


The Five Times Robin Didn't Ask For Help (And The One Time He Did)

by G_G_Robertson



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Fluffy Ending, Robin doesn't listen, starfire isn't taking his shit, until he does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:24:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_G_Robertson/pseuds/G_G_Robertson
Summary: Robin was never one to ask for help.Whether it was him at four years old and desperately wanting to try the gymnastic rings in the circus training tent, or him at eighteen years old wanting to protect his teammates, Robin did it alone.Things never really seemed to changed.That is until a rare night when things get to be too much, and the ghost of his mother's words in company with the beautiful alien by his side, remind him of what truly matters.Also known as, the five times Robin didn't ask for help, and the one time he did.





	1. Chapter 1

1.

At age four, Richard wanted nothing more than to conquer the hoops his mother spoke of so fondly. They called to him like a siren’s song, tempting and deceivingly simple, promising success and triumph if he just gave it a go. He stared at wooden hoops where they dangled promisingly from the red and white swirl of the tent roof, and his heart swelled with an eager sense to prove himself.

He could do it. No, he _would_ do it. And he would do it all by himself, at that.

As he cautiously toed his way into the room, eyeing the spots of sunset gold light that poured through the tent’s flimsy window flap like honey, an image of his mother’s face came to mind. Not her face as it would be now, her eyes ablaze at the sight of him approaching the hoops unsupervised. No, he didn’t want to spend time focusing on the anger and fear that would blister in her eyes as she reproached him, the way her jaw would clench with each finished sentence. He thought of her in the story she told him, the story about love, his parents, and of course, the hoops.

•

It had started with a performance on a dreary day just North of Chicago. His father had been only a boy himself, his pocket jingling with the change he’d gotten as a fourteenth birthday present and a boyish grin spread across his face. He was going to see the circus. It had been in town for two days before his birthday, and now on the circus’s last day in town, he had his just enough savings and birthday money to finally see the tricks and wonders he’d longed for. He had just turned onto the street leading towards the grand tent he heard it. Or, should he say, her.

She was about his age, maybe a year younger, and he could clearly make out her slumped form through the entrance to a tent that had been tucked away almost out of sight.

  
She let out a whimper, and as he scanned around her his eyes caught on the two wooden hoops, dangerous high and swinging wildly. She had fallen from them. Without a second thought, he sprinted towards her.

“Hey!” He called, and as her tear filled gaze snapped fiercely to him, his breath caught. They were the most unbelievable blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“What are you doing here?” She bit severely, and he was snapped out of his thoughts by the sheer strength that radiated form her, even as she lay crumpled and desperately clutching at her ankle. “Audience members go to the main tent! This is our rehearsal space!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t…” He trailed off when he noticed her hands were shaking, “Um, do you need help with that? Your ankle, I mean. My God-Mother is a nurse and I’ve sprained my own ankle a couple of times...not that yours is necessarily strained! I mean, I wouldn’t know unless I had a look at it…” He mumbled, and a flush rose to his cheeks as he realised he had been babbling.

A pause hung heavy in the air for a moment, before being shatter by what had to be the loveliest sound he’d ever heard. She was laughing. Whether it was at him, or somehow with him, though he was doubted it was the latter, he found he didn’t care.

“You’re really red you know.” She teased, and his face grew hotter, “But,” she continued quickly, and whilst her tone had lost the startled anger of earlier, yet the caution of it remained. “If you could help…I’d really appreciate it.”

So he told her to stay still whilst he sprinted the block back to his ramshackle apartment and then pushed himself even faster to get back to her.  
He was redder than a tomato sweating like a pig by the time he’d reached her again, his chest heaving with the desperate breaths he took. But, as he saw the relief flood her eyes as he made his way back to her, his godmother’s first aid kit now in hand, he realised he didn’t care in the slightest.

He hadn’t gotten around to seeing the circus perform that day, he would eventually tell his son. But he’d met her, he’d met his future wife, and the truest love he’d ever know. When the father would tell this story to his son, his boyish grin would return, and he would say it had been of the best days of his life.

•

It was Richard’s favourite story, and despite everything that would happen to the boy himself as he grew, his favourite story it would always remain. It was this story that ran through his mind as he did he best to shove the portable stairs to the hoops, sweat dripping down his forehead as he struggled with his childlike strength. But soon they were close enough, and as he raced up the stairs, his legs pounding with each step, he saw a flash of his mother on those very same hoops. She was always twirling, dipping and twisting, her movements smooth as water and sure as all else. Though she had eventually transitioned into trapeze, he always loved watching her on the hoops. Seeing the ease at which she performed, he figured it couldn’t be too hard for him to do so too.

He had been wrong.

It was only a second after he’d thrown himself towards the hoops, he feet flying from the safety of the steps into empty air, that he realised his mistake. The hoops weren’t designed for someone as small as him, and as quickly as he’d touched the rings, his pudgy fingers grasping at it desperately, he’d slipped from them, and began the long descent onto the hard cold floor.

He didn’t remember an impact.

• 

From the moment his vision went dark in the fall to ground below, to the moment they flicked open again, it felt to Richard like no time had passed. Though, he reasoned, blinking as he realised he was back in his room, some time must have. It was dark outside the window, the kind of darkness that comes only with the dead of night, and his wrist hurt something _awful_.

A voice to his left cleared his throat, and he looked over dazedly to meet his mother’s eyes.

Oh he was in for it.

“So,” she spoke slowly, and Richard cringed, “You decided to try the rings for yourself?”

He tried to hide his face under his blanket.

“That’s not working on me this time, Richard.” She snapped harshly, almost hysterically, and he burrowed deeper into the soft fabric. “I don’t care how long you give me the doe eyes or play your little hide and seek games to try and win me over. This time it is not going to work.”

He curled the blanket tighter in his fists. He was waiting for her tell announce his punishment, no more acrobat training for one, though that would probably happen regardless with the ache in his wrist, and she’d take away his bed time story privileges.

Now that, he though gloomily, would really be the worst.

But the punishments didn’t come, instead all he heard was a quiet, heartbreaking, “You scared me so much.”

He peeked his head out from under the blankets, and his heart squeezed at the sight of his mother. Her head and drooped to her hands, and her shoulders were shaking.

She was crying.

“Ma-”

“I caught you, you know.” She breathed shakily, not lifting her head yet, “I walked in and saw you slip from the rings. I thought I wouldn’t be fast enough to catch you. I thought I’d have to watch…”

She didn’t continue, only shaking her head and pressing her palms firmly against her closed eyes. When his vision started to blur Richard realised he was starting to cry too.

The sound of it made her look up sharply, and next thing he knew she was crawling in bed beside him and he was wrapped so tightly in her arms he thought he’d never escape. He couldn’t image ever wanting to.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” He blubbered, and her arms tightened.

He pressed his face into the side of her neck, his tears mixing with her own, “I know, little Robin.” She cooed, her voice still shaky. “But please, promise me, you won’t ever do something like that again.”

He nearly nodded, nearly agreed without a beat, but in the end he couldn’t help himself, “I ju-just wanted to be like you. Remember, from the st-story? Where you were on the hoops all by yourself and you met Papa and you ended up in love.” His rushed words barely made sense through his tears, but she understood them regardless.

“Oh baby, your Papa didn’t fall in love because I was on the hoops by myself,” she cooed, rubbing his back soothingly, “We fell in love because I asked for help.”

He would forget the words almost as quickly as he heard them, but, when he did remember, not quite fifteen years later, they would change his life irrevocably.


	2. The Solo Patrol

2.

At age nine, Robin wanted nothing more than to prove that he wasn’t a child. He sat slumped and scowling on the roof of Wayne manor, the rain thudding against the grey tiles beside him and rolling heavily down his face. The whole sky seemed sour, leaking its frustration and lashing out with white shocks of thunder. Alfred had already demanded he cease his sulking and come down for dinner at least twice now. Robin refused. But not because he was sulking.

He _wasn’t_ sulking.

He was just…planning. Yeah, that was it. He was planning how he could finally make someone realise just how helpful he could be.  
In fact, he thought proudly, jutting his chin up to spite the rain that stung his exposed face, he was doing his job.

He clenched his jaw firmly as he dutifully scanned what limited view he had of Gotham from his perch. The rain loomed over the city like a noose, and Robin knew just from looking at the sky that tonight would be riddled with gory violence, and the city would be painted red with crime.

That was the way of it on rainy nights. After all, the rain washed away everything; fingerprints, tire tracks. Blood.

Tonight would be filled with a darkness, and who knew how many would suffer because of it.

Especially since he wasn’t allowed to help.

“Master Grayson!” A familiar voice called sternly, barely audible above the crackling thunder. “I’ve entertained your brooding for long enough. You will come down at once.”

Robin frowned, about to protest when he realised that for Alfred’s voice to reach him, he must be standing out on the balcony, exposed to the harsh weather. A pang of guilt stung his chest.

He stayed up there a moment longer, just enough to make Alfred wonder if his request has gone ignored once more, before he began to move. He scaled the wet tiles carefully to the lip of the roof, where he swung himself over and landed safely on the balcony below.

Alfred was not unamused.

His mouth had twisted into a disapproving scowl, “Will you be joining Master Wayne for dinner?”

“You’d have to drag me by my hair to get me anywhere near Bruce.” He snapped, crossing his arms angrily, ignoring the sting of rain against his back as he attempted to keep his face impassive.

Bruce was always impassive, and he always got what he wanted.

Bruce’s face was cold.

Robin had hated it at first. He’d been so used to his mother’s expressive blue eyes and his father’s booming laugh, that the sudden lack of warmth had left him crying himself to sleep more times than he’d care to admit. But the tears had stopped now. He was used to the way of things in his new life, a life of fancy dinners and violent streets. He’d realised if he wanted to be a hero, it was better this way.

Attachments killed in the business of heroics, Bruce had told him that on the day of his first training session.

“I’m afraid Master Grayson, it’s not my place to drag you anywhere. But I know Bruce would appreciate company before he leaves for his evening patrol.” Alfred continued, stepping back and opening the balcony door for Robin to walk through.

His attempts to appear impassive shattered, and a bitter scowl twisted his features.

Now that was the problem that had started it all. Bruce’s evening patrol. Or, should he rephrase, Bruce’s solo evening patrol.  
“Tell him I’m so sorry, but I’ll be working on my homework tonight.” He sniped, taking care to lace his words with all the sarcasm he possessed, before striding through the door and into the marbled hall.

He made sure to avoid the dining hall as he made his way to his bedroom, debating whether to slam his bedroom door in frustration or just slip through silently and avoid the lecture that would accompany such dramatics. He decided on the former.

 

*

 

He’d been in his room for just under four hours when the idea came to him. He’d been slumped over his large oak desk, writing out yet another equation his too-posh teacher from his too-posh school had assigned him, when he realised exactly how he could make Bruce see that he wasn’t some useless sidekick.

He’d just have to do his _own_ solo patrol.

He grinned and shoved himself away from the desk, as if the chance would slip away if he didn’t hop on it right this second. He’d just need to get his suit from the Batcave, but that wouldn’t be a problem if he was quiet. Alfred may have the uncanny ability to pop up as if from nowhere, but Bruce had been training Robin for years now on how to get in and out of a situation unnoticed.

His removed his shoes from his feet, wearing only socks to soundlessly glide through the halls, making it to the cave in a matter of minutes.

He swallowed the sudden ball of nerves that had stuck in his throat as he pressed his fingertip to the scanner. It was the first time he’d been in there alone.

It had never seemed so big before, and the weapons lining the walls had never seemed so threatening. He shook his head to dispel the unpleasant thoughts, and ran to where his suit was fitted to the mannequin on the far wall. He wasn’t going to let himself get nervous now, not when he had so much to prove. Especially when he had villains to stop.  
He ran over the details of the hushed conversation Bruce had with Alfred only two nights ago, back when he’d thought Robin was fast asleep in his room.

At 12:50am there’d be a large shipment of cocaine delivered to the port for the Whisper Gang. There’d be approximately 2.3 million dollars worth of the stuff. Most importantly though, Batman wouldn’t be able to make an appearance. Bruce had told Alfred, his voice grim and sharp, he’d be too busy chasing after the Joker’s recent trail of destruction to prevent the shipment from occurring.  
Robin would be able to stop it though, he believed that with nothing less than certainty. Granted, he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d stop it, but he’d figure it out.

He slipped through the underground tunnel of the cave and snuck his way out, pulling himself up into a grimy back alley on the North side of Gotham. The weather was awful, yes, and the alley smelt like guts and rotten fish, but he was finally out on his own. He was doing it.

He flew silently through the inky night air as he made his way to the port, relying heavily on his acrobatics to propel himself from one roof to the next. There’d been a few near misses, when his hands had slipped against building edges slick from the rain, but he’d handled it, and with each building he put behind him, his confidence grew.

Soon he was perched on the roof of a boating supply store, the port – and the gang gathered on it – in clear view.

He slid closer in total silence, moving to duck behind one of the larger cargo boxes crowding the port’s side.

“It’ll be here soon, make sure the men are ready to load the product into the back of the trucks.” A man with a thick Ukrainian accent spoke, and Robin strained his ears to catch the rest of the conversation through the heavy pound of the rain.  
No more words were spoken, or at least, none loud enough for Robin to hear.

He inched his way closer, crawling across the side of the box and sliding into a gap between two smaller ones. He had a better vantage point now.

There were at least a dozen men, all decked out in black suits and metal mouth coverings. Only one went without the mouth covering, and from his firm stance in front of the men, Robin knew that he had to be the one in charge. The man’s thin lips moved, and behind him his men nodded.

Robin exhaled sharply in frustration.

He couldn’t hear what the man was saying. If he could hear even just a little more, even a single sentence, he was sure a plan would come to him. All he needed a bit more information.

He moved from between the boxes, crawling on the ground to reach the box closest to the group. He wasn’t more than a foot from it now, all he had to do was balance on the slippery, moss covered edge, ignore the waves lapping at its side, and shuffle himself a bit closer. Then he’d be on safer ground, perfectly hidden.

Just a few more steps, one more good shuffle and-

Thunder cracked like a whip in the silence, and Robin’s foot slipped.

He fell into the water with a spectacularly loud splash.

The water flooded overhead, forcing him deeper and deeper into the filthy water. Of course, he didn’t care about that. He’d gladly have swallowed all the dirty brown water in the whole port rather than face what he knew what would happen next.

A hand shot into the water like a bullet from a gun, and wrapped around his wrist. In the next second, he was thrown onto the hard concrete ground in front of Gotham’s very own Ukrainian mob.

This was certainly not his finest moment.

“Well, well. If it’s not the Bat’s little birdy.”

Robin tried to move, but a heavy foot slammed into his back. The boot pressed him into the concrete so harshly he felt something in his torso crack. A white hot flood of pain shot through his ribs, and it took him a moment to realise that his ribs weren’t what he should be focusing on.

Not when he became aware of the cold barrel of a gun against his temple.

“Boss, I don’t think it’s a good idea to kill the kid. It’ll piss the Bat off, and he’s already after us. Who knows what he’ll do if we-”

A gunshot rang heavy through the air, and it took Robin a second to realise he wasn’t the one that had been shot.

The body of one of the men slumped to the ground before him, a pool of blood leaking from the bullet hole in his forehead. He dead grey eyes, glassy and wide, that stared at Robin’s unblinkingly.

Robin felt the acrid taste of fear at the back of his throat, and as his vision blurred, he realised he was crying.

The man above him spoke, and Robin realised the casual offhanded tone he used, was far, far scarier than the words he spoke, “If anyone else has an objection to killing this little fucking brat, speak now.” A beat of silence, then, “No? Good. This will-”  
The man’s sentence was cut short, and the crippling weight on his back had vanished.

He immediately used the freedom to his advantage and rolled sharply to his side. He ignored the throbbing wave of pain the movement sent to his ribs and shakily forced himself upright.

Half of the men that had been surrounding him lunged, and Robin ducked promptly to avoid a knife aimed at his throat. He heard Ukrainian commands shooting all over the place, but he couldn’t take the time to try and process what they were saying. Instead, he focused on landing a swift kick to one of the men’s jaw, then using his momentum to kick another in the chest.

He knew he shouldn’t, he knew, but he spared a brief glance to his left to confirm his suspicions.

He saw a large man in a familiar black Batsuit and cowl, fending off the remainder of the mob.

Bruce had saved his life.

Great, he couldn’t sop himself from thinking gloomily, if they survived this he’d never live it down.

His head throbbed as he ducked a blow to it, the fist of the other man just scraping his temple.

He wasn’t doing bad, per say. He was blocking their shots with near perfection, jumping backwards onto the boxes to add height and distance himself the best he could. But with the rain stinging his eyes and his aching throb of his ribs, he felt like he could hardly garner enough strength to breathe let alone fight. A masculine voice roared suddenly from his left, telling him, no, begging him to move. He realised what they meant a second too late, only processing the knife coming towards his mid-section after it had already begun its journey.

Something heavy slammed into his side, propelling him onto the concrete. His head smacked against the ground with an audible crack.

His vision went black.

 

He was out for what felt like days, coming back into consciousness with a blinking mirage of faded colours and broken noise. He heard pieces of shouts and cries. He heard the thud of bodies hitting the ground. His sight swam in shades of black and grey. There was the grey of the sky and the concrete, the grey of the dead man’s eyes and the trademark grey of Gotham. Then there was the sharply contrasting black of the suit-clad person lifting Robin into his arms.

He blinked as he recognised the cool leather seats of the Batmobile underneath him, and as he looked to where he knew Bruce would be sitting, he noticed a smear of red against car. Bruce’s face was alabaster pale, his hands shaking slightly on the wheel.

 

Robin had closed his eyes, just to blink, but when he opened them next he found himself in the Batcave.

He shuffled lazily, revelling in the softness that surrounded him. His head was gently cushioned and his body wrapped snuggly in a blanket. A second later, the pain came. His head ached and throbbed, and he felt as though his heart was pounding behind his eyes. He tried to breathe in, gather some air in his lungs to get his mind focused from the cloudy haze it was in, but only managed to release startled cry.

“Take it easy.”

He blinked dazedly, finally noticing the figure laying in their own makeshift infirmary bed beside him.

He wasn’t awake enough to even try and hide his surprise, “Bruce?”

The man scowled at him, wrath shining in his eyes, “Were you expecting someone else?”

Robin swallowed. Bruce was injured.

But Bruce was never injured, or at least never to the point where he’d actually listen to Alfred’s usual insistence of bedrest.  
“What…what happened to you?”

Bruce growled, _actually growled_ , “You happened, Dick.” He snapped, “You were stupid enough to decide to take on a major drug bust by yourself!” Bruce pushed himself up, wincing briefly but never losing the fire in his eyes, “Do you realise how stupid that was? How stupid you were?” His shouts seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off walls and smacking into Robin in waves of accusation.

Robin felt his own anger build up in his chest, and it clawed against his breast bone like a barely contained monster, “Well I wouldn’t have had to sneak off myself if you’d just let me come with you.” He sniped.

Bruce stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief, “Are you joking?” His voice was low and heavy, and Robin decided he preferred the yelling, “You decided to break out because I wouldn’t let you go on a Goddamn patrol?” He let out a single bark of laughter, “Honestly Dick, I thought it might have at least been for _noble reasons_! But no! You were just being selfish! I thought I taught you better than that!”

“Teach me?” He cried, and the furious beast in his chest was released, “What the heck have you taught me? All my life with you has ever been about is fighting this villain and that villain, always ‘No Dick, not like that!’ and “Goddamn Dick I thought I you knew better!’ I’ve never been good enough!” Robin’s hands shook as they twisted the sheet below him, his heart thudded painfully, “I’ve listened to your every rule, your every command, your every restriction! I’ve done my school work, I’ve gotten the highest grades in my class, I’ve played nice at every stupid, boring dinner party and backed off every time you’ve told me to! But it’s still not enough is it?” He screamed, his voice cracking on the last word. Bruce was silent, eyes murderous and jaw clenched, “It’s not enough, is it Bruce?” He yelled again, his breathing heavy and voice hysterical.

There was silence. Then a quiet, firm statement.

“I didn’t stop you from going on this patrol because you weren’t good enough.” His voice was like thunder, “I stopped you from going because I knew you’d get yourself killed.”

Robin experienced only a single second of silent hurt before he was instantly on the defence, ready to yell and insist that wasn’t true. He’d opened his mouth to do just that, when he noticed Bruce’s hand pressed firmly to his side.

He froze as remembered his last seconds of consciousness before hitting the ground. Realisation dawned.

“You got stabbed. Instead of me.” Robin hoped he was wrong.

Bruce stared at him only a second more before giving a half shrug, turning his face from him and laying down in the bed.

Robin took it as his que to lay down too. All that yelling had only made him feel worse.

More silence suffocated the air.

“Richard.” Bruce spoke plainly, and Robin balked at the use of his first name, “Don’t do something if you’re not capable of doing it right. Or you’ll just get the people around you, or yourself, killed.”

Shame flooded his cheeks, “Right.” He snapped, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“And Richard?” He called again, this time, Robin turned to face him, “You are not capable of doing anything alone. You’ve shown me that tonight. You’re a child right now, and if you keep acting like this, you always will be.”

 

Now those words, were ones he never forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this was a day late! My dog managed to get into our fridge and eat the leftovers of the Valentine's chocolates, so we had to take the poor thing to vet to get his stomach pumped. 
> 
> Hopefully, assuming no more of my pets manage to cause mayhem within the next week, Chapter Three will be out on the 26th of February! 
> 
> And here's a teaser, the rest of the Teen Titans are finally introduced! 
> 
> Also: Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, I'm not the best at editing my own work, especially when I'm as tired as I am now!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> This chapter's dialogue is pulled straight from season 5 episode 10 for the sake of total accuracy as to how they all met.  
> I had to watch it about 50 times to get the dialogue right (but hey watching a ton of teen titans, not exactly a chore). 
> 
> My work load is really picking up over the next few months, like I'm talking I got a grand total of maybe 30 hours of sleep this week, and this was just prepping for next month.
> 
> So because of that the next chapter won't be updated March 12th. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! And comments and kudos are always appreciated!

3.

 

 

At age fifteen, all Robin wanted to do was prove he could do it alone.

  
What ‘it’ was exactly, he wasn’t sure.

  
Live on his own? You bet. Be totally independent from Batman? Absolutely. Fight crime? Well of course. But none of those things seemed to be enough. From the moment he’d watched his parents fall to their deaths, hitting the ground like puppets with their strings cut, Robin had felt like a hole had been carved in his heart.

 

Not that he never experienced happiness. He had, may times. Bruce certainly had his moments.

  
There were the warm winter nights, with a crackling fire place and the same terribly cheesy, made for TV Christmas movie they played every December first – it was actually Bruce’s favourite movie, though he’d never admit it. They sit on the couch, Bruce, Alfred and himself, wrapped in various thick blanket and coddling hot drinks. It was the same every year, right down to the Bruce’s choice mulled wine and Alfred’s signature peppermint hot chocolate.

  
Then of course, there were the long, hard, training sessions. The hours and hours where his muscles were lit with a burning aching pain born out of resilience. Those were times he’d usually perfect something, a faultless roundhouse kick or undercut punch, and he’d see Bruce’s eyes shine with pride.

  
There were Alfred’s apple pies, the thrill of taking out a villain, of getting the best mark in his grade, you name it. HE had moments of happiness in life, there was no doubt about that. After all, he was the adopted son of a billionaire. What could he have to complain about?

  
But there was that damn hole in his heart. It throbbed hot and heavy every time he saw a father playing with their child in the park, and every time his friends’ mothers would kiss them on the crown of the head as they were dropped off at school. It would rear up, sore and ugly, and he would be overcome with a bitter sweet tide of loneliness.

  
The loneliness had begun to consume him.

  
So when Bruce had for in intents and purposes fired him, robbed him of his role as side kick after a getting shot - Robin really didn’t understand what the big deal with, Bruce got shot all the time – Robin had only two options. Hightail it to Jump City and become his own person, someone more than just a side kick, or retire from the role of Robin entirely.

 

He’d caught the next bus out of Gotham.

 

Even now, as he bolted from the ground that exploded beneath him, dancing around the green blasts delivered in rapid fire from a rather irritable alien, he had no regrets concerning his decision.

And to think he hadn’t even been in the city for a full day yet.

His new life was going to eventful, that was for sure.

 

“Girl’s gonna wreck the whole city!” The half-robot half-human boy shouted from beside him.

Ah yes, there were the others that had some how joined him. How could he forget.  
The mere thought of it made him clench his jaw shut firmly, determinedly ignoring the small flame of indignation that sparked in his chest. As of right now, he was not, in fact, doing it alone.

That plan had hit a wall. A wall on the shape of a half-demon girl, a part robot teen, and a green shapeshifter. Yet as another electric green beam was shot at him, skimming his thigh and causing a white hot curl of pain to wrap its way around his leg, he found he wasn’t really in the position to refuse help.

With the pain brought focus, however, and he realised that this girl was going to destroy the city if he didn’t stop her. Determination flooded his system, hot and metallic and the promising thrill of adrenaline crawled up his spine, “I won’t let her.” He socked his fist into his palm, studying the girl mere feet ahead of him, “I won’t lose this fight.”

She hovered above the ground, flying tall and unflinching ahead of him, her lithe body wrapped in metal plates and black fabric. She bore some kind of metal crown on her head, pushing the long fire-red locks away from her face. She really was something to behold.

She was a warrior. Robin knew that for certain.

Yet, it hadn’t been her fighting that had revealed it. His mind briefly flickered back to when they’d fought hand-to-hand only moments ago. She’d matched every strike he’d made, curving her body away from his before propelling herself into the air.

She’d reminded him of a caged bird attempted to soar into the wild.

She never stayed away for long though, and her sharp and brutal moves had rained down on him like a storm, forcing him to duck and weave. He’d been forced into playing defence in a game of hand-to-hand combat, his specialty. That hadn’t happened in nearly a year, not even in his training sessions with Bruce.  
She was a force to be reckoned with.

But no, her fighting prowess was not what had marked her as a warrior. Nor was it the fierce battles cries she threw like weapons, growing increasingly ferocious with each foreign syllable.

It was her eyes.

Alien as they were, they were shockingly easy to read. He saw the fire shine within them, blistering and unwavering, and as her gaze landed squarely on his own, he felt as though he’d been set alight. But that wasn’t all that her eyes revealed. They gave away a secret she was clearly trying to conceal, a secret all warriors nestled close to their heart, tucked away from the face of their enemies.

She was terrified.

And, if the way her eyes flickered to the broken streets behind her before nervously scanning the sky was any indication, it wasn’t Robin she was terrified of.

He jumped towards her once more, needing to end this battle, only to be blocked by a large black shadow.

“Maybe fighting isn’t the answer.” The shadow’s owner spoke, and Robin recognised it as belonging to the half-demon.

He spared the dark haired girl only a glance before returning his gaze to the alien before him.

Her eyes were radiant, and her shoulders trembling.

His voice cut the silence, “Stand down.”

“What do you think, you the boss or something?” The same boy from before snapped.

Robin turned to look him in face, masked eyes meeting only a singly beaming red one, the boy’s human eye shadowed. Robin insisted, “Just give me a chance.”

He frowned a moment, opening his mouth as if to protest, before he regretfully snapped it shut. He nodded.

Robin gave him a confidant smile, appearing a lot surer than he really was, and started forward. He kept his stance casual and inviting as he crossed the rubble covered road between him and the girl.

He was waiting for her to attack. She was still tense, her jaw clenched and muscles coiled, but she hadn’t moved to attack him yet, only a few more steps now and then-

Two glowing green beams eclipsed his vision, so close he could feel the heat radiating from them, he dashed backwards.

“Gotka!”

He took a breath, raising his hands before him in an easy gesture, “Easy. My name is Robin, and I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke, taking in the way her eyebrows drew together and her small nose scrunched up in confusion. His mouth dried as her full lips parted absentmindedly. He resolutely ignored the erratic beat of his heart as he continued, “I just want to help.”

Her hands shook nervously in their cuffs, and as he reached into his tool belt he saw her whole body tense further.

He pulled a tool out.

“Gotka!” She rushed into him, her voice frenzied, “Gotka buhovna!”

Her hands were nearly pressing into his chest now, and he rapidly held up a lock pick, “It’s okay,” He soothed, raising the tool to her cuffs, “Look.”

He held his breath for a tense second, before her eyes cooled along with her hands, the fire dulling as she lowered them.

He let out a sigh of relief, immediately twisting the device left first then right, manoeuvring the lock pick amongst her cuffs. He glanced up, intending only to see her reaction, ensure she was still complacent, when he saw her full face with startling clarity. Now that the anger of her eyes had been muted, the glow gone entirely, he saw everything with a blinding clarity.

Her face was heart shaped, baring high cheekbones and a small pointed chin, matching her equally small and pointed nose. Her lips were set in a grim frown. She looked young, no older than him, yet her eyes were filled with trembling trepidation. He knew then that she was no stranger to pain. After all, it wasn’t difficult to recognise a look you often saw in the mirror.

He forced himself to look down and focus on the cuffs before him.

They fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and he smiled up at her warmly, “There. May now we can be-”

He didn’t get to finish, due to the sudden and unexpected press of lips against his.

Her hair had swirled from her sudden movement, red locks falling to rest on his chest and ghosting against his cheek. He froze as he was struck with the overwhelming scent of roses and vanilla.

The kiss wasn’t anything romantic, that was made apparent by the vast distance between them. In fact, the only contact they had was her hand cupping the back of his neck, their lips, and the barely their touch of their foreheads against one another.

But it was still enough to make his heart _stop_.  
.  
Then, as quickly as her lips had come, they were gone again, and he was struck in the chest hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground.

_What the hell?_

“If you do not wish to be destroyed, you will leave me alone!” Her eyes were glowing once more, but before Robin could even grasp the fact she’d spoken to him, in perfect English, she was gone.

Silence descended, thick with shock.

No one moved.

And then, the silence was thoughtlessly shattered.

“So…I’m Beast Boy.” The green shapeshifter smiled widely, leaning towards the other teens around him, “Who are you?”

 

*****

 

They found her next in the DVD store, where she was unashamedly stuffing her face with food, as though she hadn’t eaten for days.

He realised, as he studied the unnatural gauntness of her cheekbones and ribs, she quite possibly hadn’t. 

“Uhhh…those taste better without the wrapper.” Beast Boy spoke, and Robin fought the urge to snap at him. This was why he had wanted to work alone. Other people were so…careless.

The alien whirled around, her hands raised and prepared to fire.

Great.

“It’s all right!” Robin rushed to reassure her, “We’re friends. Remember?” Please for the love of God let her remember. Getting barbequed on his first solo mission was not his idea of success.

“Friends?” She stalked forward, and Robin felt unease twist in his gut, “Why? For what purpose did you free me?”

“Just…” He paused, unsure of how to continue without possibly angering her further, “Trying to be nice?”

She growled, “Nice? We do not have this word on my planet. The closest is Rutha, meaning weak.”

Cyborg moved up from behind Robin, standing beside him firm and resolute, “well around here, nice means nice. And if you want us to keep being nice, you’ve gotta tell us why the lizard kings had you prisoner.”

The flames in her eyes extinguished entirely, and Robin felt shock flood his system when for the first time, she dropped her fighting guard, “Not prisoner.” She spoke softly, her chest curling in on itself, “I am…prize.”

Robin’s mind flashed to a disturbing image from one of the history books his tutor had forced him to read about the Mayan empire.

It had been a painting of a young girl, prized for her beauty. She’d been chained, bound at her wrists and ankles, tugged into the arms of one of the Mayan rulers by a rope around her neck.

Robin’s stomach curled as the girl before him continued, “The Gordanians were to deliver me to the Citadel, to live out my days as a servant.”

Raven spoke, her voice tight and concerned, “And the Citadel are…?”

The alien’s hard started to shake, so slightly that Robin almost hadn’t noticed. Almost. She spoke, her tone cold and empty, “Not nice.”

“Then you’re not going with them.” Robin insisted, stepping towards her without fear now, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She was not his enemy, and he realised she never really had been. No, those sick bastards up in the space ship were.

One of the many times Bruce had scolded him came to mind, back when he’d overheard a discussion of alien trafficking between Bruce and the Green Lantern.  
“It’s the way of other planets, Dick.” Bruce had insisted, “It’s their culture. It is not our place to intervene.”

 

_Well screw that._

 

“Don’t you mean we?” Beast Boy spoke, but before anyone could response, an explosion shattered the wall to their left.

It was them. The aliens after the girl before him, the ones who wanted to reclaim their prize.  
Like hell he was going to let that happen.

 

*****

 

The aliens had retreated for now, but Robin knew that wouldn’t last long. The teens had barely won that battle as it was, and with hundreds of aliens and only the five of them, he began to doubt if they could pull this off.

“I believe your expression is, thanks.”

Robin turned to look at the alien who had caused this all, and he felt his resolve grow once more. This was what he was here for. Not to give up, but to fight. To help others who needed it.

“This isn’t over.” Robin spoke, moving towards Beast Boy and the others, “Now that we’ve interfered-“

“Trogaar will strike harder.” The alien finished for him, “It is only a matter of-”

A grotesque voice silenced her, and they turned to witness the projection of one the other aliens, the leader by the looks of it, that had filled the night sky. But the voice detailing threat after threat was not what Robin had focused on. No, he was focused on the giant particle weapon hovering above them.

“So, after trashing a pizza place and a perfectly good video store, now we've managed to make a humongous space gecko mad enough to vaporize our entire town?” Beast Boy, very unhelpfully, in Robin’s opinion, spoke.

Cyborg sighed, “Go team.”

“All the fault is yours!” A voice shouted to his left, and Robin turned incredulously to the alien, the alien that he’d saved, who was firing accusations after him, “I commanded you leave me alone, but you insisted upon the 'being nice'!”

“ _My fault_?!” Robin retaliated, his own anger bubbling up dangerously in his chest, “You blast me, you  _kiss_   _me_ ,” Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that part aloud, “but you never stop to mention that they have a gigantic particle weapon?!”

  
“Quiet!” A voiced echoed, and both him and the girl before him paused to turn to Raven, who having realised the attention was on her, froze. “Hi?”

Robin closed his eyes in frustration, “Look. It doesn’t matter how we got into this mess. We're in it, and we will get out of it. Together.”

His gaze sought out the girl’s and was relieved to find her nodding grimly.

“Come on,” Robin continued, moving towards were he believed the core of the ship to be, “We’ve got a city to save.”

“Wait!” Raven spoke up, “We don’t need to walk.” She turned to glance at where Beast Boy had turned into an eagle, “Or fly, for that matter.”

She stepped between the group and in an instant, they were surrounded by a dark energy.

“Hold up!” Cyborg boomed, looking anxiously around, “What are we…” His words faded and the dark energy retreated, all of the teens, par Raven, wide eyed as they realised they had been teleported into the heart of the alien spacecraft.

It took Robin only a moment more to adjust, and then he was leading the group further into the ship.

 

The others had begun to drift behind, and when he felt a soft hand reach out to touch his wrist, he found himself alone with the alien.

“I bring you...apology.” She spoke, her head falling forward, and Robin tried to not focus on the way her impossibly long lashes rested against her cheekbone.

“Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I yelled, too.”

Then, for the first time, he saw her smile, “And again, you are...nice.” She grinned wider, her smile warm and radiant, “On my world, only my k'norfka has shown me such kindness.”

He felt something warm bloom in his chest at the sight of it, “Well, things are different here.”

A soft blush rose to her cheeks.

 

“Uh, guys?!” Beat Boy shrieked, and Robin cursed himself for getting distracted, “I think they know we’re here!”

They fought their way through the lizard-like creatures, taking them out swiftly and efficiently.

“Just up here! On the left, we’ll reach the main controls!” The alien spoke, and they emerged into the room in time to hear the commander speak.

“The Earth scum shall learn it takes more than five juvenile heroes to defy the mighty Lord Trogaar!”

“We’re not five heroes.” Robin spoke surely, and he realised without a shadow of a doubt what they really were. “We’re one team.”

 

 

Robin realised then that whilst he hadn’t asked for help, he’d never been more glad to have it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the start to the first RobStar fic I've ever written, fingers crossed it wasn't too terrible!


End file.
